


Picard in a Bell Boy Uniform

by internetname



Series: TrekSmut Illustrated Moments [1]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-03-06 13:24:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3136037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/internetname/pseuds/internetname
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>See title.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Picard in a Bell Boy Uniform

**Author's Note:**

> I and some other P/Q writers enjoy making what we call TrekSmut Illustrated Moments. Costumes are emphasized, and the Picard and Q who appear in the stories are usually not Captain Picard and Q of the Continuum. (We also call these "And Then They Fuck" stories. They're short and fun and give them a try!

The well-groomed woman looked up from her computer with an energetic smile. She had just taken up the night shift, which meant she could tuck her son into bed upstairs before she had to work at the desk, then get back in time to make him breakfast before sleeping while he was at school. She had always liked her job here, and had extended her maternal feelings to the customers. Take Mr. Contini, for example. He checked into the hotel every month or so, stayed a couple of nights, and then checked out on time, leaving the room in good condition. He tipped well, and he always had a smile, though often a tired one, and sometimes passed out free samples of whatever his company was currently promoting through its salesmen. 

"Good evening, Mr. Contini." Her eyes took in his conservative gray suit, grey fedora, slightly tired white carnation in the lapel buttonhole that matched the white tops of his currently hidden spats. 

"Good evening, Mary. Have you heard whether the rain might let up?" 

Mary shook her head, then nodded. "Yes, I've heard. No, I'm afraid it's not letting up any time soon." 

He was definitely providing tired smiles today, and she noticed with concern that he had cut his hand, the angry red seeping through his too-small bandage. 

"Your usual room?" she asked, signaling to the bell hop, who was looking particularly sharp today, she thought. Jean-Luc always wore his uniform like a uniform. The black pants were pressed into perfect folds, so that the red stripes ran down the outside of his legs in a perfect line. The double row of copper buttons went straight from his trim waist to his broad shoulders, not a wrinkle to be found in the expanse of red velvet either over that chest, down the back, or along the straight arms, which, at rest, hung straight down his sides. Spotless white gloves and highly polished black shoes almost completed the outfit, but the true finishing touch was the red velvet cap he wore at a slight angle atop his bald, smoothly shaped head. 

As Jean-Luc stepped forward and nodded at Mr. Contini, Mary couldn't help noticing the way the guest's expression simultaneously glowed and became slightly guarded. She had wondered before whether Mr. Contini had ever tried to reach past the perfectly correct exterior Jean-Luc presented to the world only to receive a courteous and considerate refusal. If he had, then they had something in common. When she'd been a child, living in the hotel her parents had founded with Jean-Luc's older brother (but staying primarily in the tall trees that surrounded the property), she'd had an enormous crush on Jean-Luc, the man who served in every function the hotel had need of. For over twenty years, Jean-Luc had been the bell hop, the sometimes-chef, the accountant, the hotel detective, the on-site medic (he'd served as a field medic in the war), and whatever else the customers could think up to demand. His brother's share of the hotel had passed to him over five years ago. He could have moved his station to the office, and hired someone else to take the bags. But he still preferred to wear the uniform, and Mary knew it was due to his efficiency and dedication that the hotel had been the most successful hotel in all of Castlerock, MD. 

When Mary had been twenty, at home from college, she'd made quite the adult play for Jean-Luc, and received that gracious but uninformative decline. It was only her mother who had eventually let her know why she had no chance with the man of her childhood dreams. 

"He married once," she'd said quietly, obviously not liking the idea of invading the man's privacy. "It didn't go well. He drank some. The job here let him get over her. Now he keeps to himself." 

What would her dear mother think now, Mary wondered, if she knew of her daughter's thoughts? Mr. Contini wasn't married, and he was very attractive. She'd heard about men with other men, something evidently common in Europe. Why not? 

"Jean-Luc," she said quietly as she reached for the guest's keys, Room #124, as usual. "Mr. Contini has cut his hand." 

"Iodine and bandages," Jean-Luc said in a voice that had spoiled her for other men's voices. Her husband was a blues singer. "As soon as we get him settled." 

"That's very kind," Contini said, stepping away from the registry and fighting the familiar urge to help with his own bags. Jean-Luc had told him often enough to leave them to him. 

He followed Jean-Luc into the small lift, and allowed himself to enjoy standing next to the man. He didn't try small talk. He didn't say how good Jean-Luc looked. He didn't say, he had never said, that seeing him was the best thing in his life. He had never said to Jean-Luc any of the things he really wanted to say. 

The room was the same, comfortingly so, and Contini threw his hat on the bed before he opened the curtains. Lovely trees. 

"I'll be right back with that iodine," that voice told him. 

"Thank you," he murmured, then listened to the door swing almost shut. With a sigh, he folded his long body into the chair and continued to look outside. The evening sun was turning the sky very faintly pink and darker blue every second. After he'd had his hand looked at -- Oh, God, Jean-Luc might touch him -- he would bathe and then read the newspaper he'd brought with him, and then sleep as late as he could. Perhaps a large breakfast tomorrow. Sales were down everywhere. It hadn't been a bad trip, overall. 

"Mr. Contini? No, don't get up. That's fine." 

He watched the red velvet form come closer, then kneel at his side and reach for his hand. Jean-Luc's hands without the gloves were dry and warm as they removed the used-up bandage, and the iodine stung only a bit in the scratch. With his eyes down on his work, Jean-Luc couldn't see the way he was staring at the perfectly angled cap, the plush red velvet chest...wouldn't notice his deep breaths, wouldn't know the thoughts filling him. Would never know his thoughts. Never know... 

"You're so beautiful." 

The hazel eyes came up now, into his own, fire reflecting red velvet, the soul of the man in oil paint daubs. 

"I'm sorry, but I had to tell you." 

Jean-Luc looked down now, and finished the bandaging. Stood up. Contini was certain he was about to hear a well-practiced speech. Did this sort of thing happen to him once a week? 

"I know how difficult saying that must have been, but --" And suddenly, Jean-Luc faltered, frowning. Contini found himself coming up from the chair, not only standing beside him, but with one hand on his arm. 

"Do you have to say no? Can't you even think about it?" 

Jean-Luc wouldn't look at him now, but didn't move away from Contini's grasp. He was staring out the window, as though he were only partially aware of being in the room. Finally, he spoke: "I have thought about it." 

Contini moved his hand, stroking the red velvet, wondering if the brass buttons were functional, or if there were some hidden zipper. "Whatever you want. Whatever you've thought about." 

But Jean-Luc shook his head, the baritone husky: "It's been too long." 

"You can trust me. I won't ever hurt you." 

"She said that, once." 

"Whoever she was, she was an idiot." 

"Too long," Jean-Luc whispered. "It hurts too much to think about you...like that." 

Contini dropped to his knees and reached for the sharply pressed pants, opening them. He pressed forward, reaching gently inside, smiling both at the length he found and at Jean-Luc's gasp. There was already moisture to work with by the time he got the man's erection into his mouth, and then it was simply a matter of sucking and licking, as he'd thought to do a thousand times but never once dared to hope he could. 

"Oh, please," Jean-Luc was whispering. "Oh, yes, please." 

Contini sucked harder, his hands pushing the black pants down now, and the boxers, caressing the firm backside bared to the warmth of the room. He thought it must have been a long time for him, for soon he could feel the sac beneath his lips tighten, and heard Jean-Luc call a warning. He sucked harder, and drew a wave of spicy cum into his mouth. The man sagged slightly, and Contini caught him, standing up, helping him to sit on the bed, kneeling before him, working now to get the rest of the uniform off. With a small chuckle, he reached up for that silly cap. 

Jean-Luc grabbed his hand, stared hard into his eyes. Contini wasn't afraid. 

"Just never lie to me," the man whispered. 

"I love you," Contini said. "That's no lie." 

"I don't even know your first name." 

Contini made a face, his eyes shining with love the whole time. "It's Quentrice." 

Jean-Luc thought about that one for a moment, then reached across to push his lover's jacket off his broad shoulders, revealing red velvet braces. "How about I call you Quin?" 

Contini laughed and helped Jean-Luc get the rest of his clothes off. He was humming with arousal, and he wasn't letting Jean-Luc out of this bed until everyone in the hotel was screaming for help with their bags. 

"Let me inside you," Contini growled. "And you can call me 'Q' for all I care." 

Jean-Luc lay back on the bed and looked at his lover with a dreamy smile. "All right then...Q." 

THE END


End file.
